


Trust

by foxymandy3100



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Fear, Gore, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymandy3100/pseuds/foxymandy3100
Summary: When Trevor takes Martin hostage inside The Hunt his trust in Jon is tested.A/N this is not a happy fic. sorry.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Trust

“Martin, do you trust me?” 

Martin had felt cold dread wash over him at the question, but oddly no hesitation. He did trust Jon. While he wasn’t always all there he was there when Martin needed him most and he always made sure he got out of things alright. He trusted that Jon would never put him in the direct line of danger, that he would never leave him alone, and that should Martin need him he would be right there.    
  
“What? Ah, _Christ_ , this can’t be good. Yes?”

Jon had said the next couple of minutes would be unpleasant. That was a hell of an understatement. A strange man had leapt from the brush and grabbed at Martin’s jacket, yanking him against his body. The scent of coppery blood, sweat, grime, and  forest filled his nostrils and he held back a gag but not a cry of surprise. A blade was held up near his face and fear turned Martin’s blood cold. 

What was happening, who was this man and how did he know Jon? The man was introduced as Trevor and Martin felt that name slip away as quickly as it came, his mind occupied by the stench, the heat of the body  pressed to him and the warm wetness of the blade coated in fresh blood that was pushing against his cheek. 

He felt ill. 

Jon had told him to keep calm and Martin  _ Trusted _ Jon. He took a deep breath and then another and obeyed. He was good at that. He  had always been good at that. “Be quiet, Martin. Stay out of the way, Martin. Don’t cause any trouble, Martin.” The only thing his mother had ever complimented him on was his ability to be quiet and vanish, he had chased that high of her approval for years until he learned so well how to stay invisible that she forgot he ex isted until she fell ill and needed to be taken care of. She remembered him then but  both of them would’ve preferred she hadn’t. 

He could be quiet... but one question nagged at his mind until he felt he would burst if he didn’t ask. 

“John? I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling  _ very _ calm, but just so I know – Can he – Can he kill me?”

Certainly he couldn’t, right? Jon had said they were  safe and he  _ trusted Jon.  _ He trusted that Jon would’ve at least warned him if he were going to be in such a deadly situation. Wouldn't he? 

“He could, yes.”

Martin knew there was more Jon said but he couldn’t hear it.  This could kill him?  Something that had been said had angered Trevor and ended with the blade run down his cheek, leaving a coating of someone else’s blood behind on his skin, it itched and made his stomach roll but not as much as the thin blade now pressed to the front of his throat, so close that when he swallowed his Adam's apple bumped against the metal. 

Whatever they were talking back came back into the forefront of his mind when Jon pissed Trevor off and the blade dug into his throat, blood trailing down his flesh toward the collar of his shirt. 

He quickly agreed with whatever Trevor had said and wished he could focus on their conversation more but the pounding his heart was so loud it blanketed the world, all that was left were the st r ea k s of stinging pain from the knife cutting into his throat , so close to ending it all, the roaring pound of his blood pumping through his heart, and Jon standing there, cool as you please, mouth moving, forming soundless words that made no sense. 

How can he be so calm right now, this could be the end... why hadn’t he warned Martin about this? He trusted Jon... but perhaps Jon didn’t trust him in return.  Trevor was shouting now, something about a girl.... and then something about loss , about making Jon feel his loss . The blade dug in and Martin knew what he meant. It was as if the sound that muffled his ears was suddenly gone and the world was so clear and crisp. It felt like being at the market, looking at the  line up of tel evisions, some with graphics so incredible that the colors were too splendid, so unlike the dullness of life. The world came into focus. Would this be the last thing he ever saw ?

“Jon” 

He felt a sort of calm wash over him. No, calm wasn’t the right word for it. It was resolution , acceptance, knowing . This could very well be the end of him, this moment his last and he wanted Jon’s name on his lips and his eyes locked on him if this was the last  moment he had. Jon’s eyes were dark and angry. As quickly as his focus came it left with a loud crack like thunder that left him reeling. 

The blade was gone from his throat, leaving a cut along the way that Martin was quick to cover up to hold back his bleeding. He couldn’t move, couldn’t force his body to react. There was so much blood. It was on his hands which were held up in surrender, on his neck... in his hair. Gore dripped from the back of his head where Trevor’s brains were splattered from the bullet that had ended him. 

Martin wished he could cry, could move, could do anything but stand there with his hands up and breath. H e couldn’t  hyperventilate , couldn’t allow himself to.  Suddenly Jon was speaking again, but his voice didn’t carry the soothing tone it had before and didn’t know if it was Jon’s tone that changed or his own reaction to it. 

He turned and  stared at the ground, at the body there that had, only moments ago, been full of life and ready to end his. But now it was a  half-formed shell, his face gone. If that girl of his had survived she wouldn’t be able to recognize him like this.  No one would know who he  was and Martin wishes blankly that he could’ve held on to more of the conversation because, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  He was well and truly forgotten in this place.

“Hello Basira” 

Martin’s head turned and he wished it hadn’t, out of the frying pan and into the fire he went. The shotgun that had ended the man on the ground was now aimed at him. His hands shot back up into the air and he swallowed hard , sputtering her name in shock and mild horror. She was his friend, right? Why was she aiming her gun at  them. Would she kill him? Was he going to end up like that poor creature that can’t even be called a man anymore, left to rot with no one to remember  him.

Please no. He didn’t want to die to like that ... worse, he didn’t want Jon to die like that. 

For  a  brief moment , a thought flickered across his mind, could Jon die? He wasn’t human anymore, perhaps he was just as safe as he had claimed, but martin clearly wasn’t. No, Martin wasn’t safe. Jon had been wrong. 

No.

Jon was all-knowing now. He can’t be wrong.  Jon had lied to him. 

Basira’s voice drew him back to the world. She wanted proof he was the real Martin Blackwood. What proof could he give aside of his brains scattered across the forest floor. They had spent months together without speaking, in the same place, the same  prison but never truly knowing one another. There was nothing he could offer her as proof and that  in itself was the only proof he had. He offered it. 

It worked but no t how he hoped. Angry as he was the vision of that shotgun trained on Jon was far more terrifying than his own mortality looming before him. A life without Jon wasn’t worth living. But Jon was not afraid, no, not afraid at all. He was smiling, joki ng, being utterly insufferable. 

What was wrong with this place? How could he act like that? Be so calm when martin’s life was hanging by a thread, a moment’s slip of the hand away from certain doom and when his own life is in the  balance he makes jokes about it. 

Martin felt fury course through his veins and pushed it down, he knew from the statement he had overheard what anger does to people in this place.... what fear does to them. He swallowed when they passed  Basira’s test and lowered his arms. He needed to s tay calm, to be clear headed and not put up a fuss.  “ Behave, Martin. Don’t make a scene, Martin. Stay Quiet and out of the way, Martin ” . His mother’s voice rung through his head, reminding him that he is better not seen nor heard unless he is serving a purpose. 

Right  now he has no purpose. 

He follows them, Basira and Jon, to wherever they are going with one clear thought in his mind. The hunt had opened his eyes, had changed him. Jon had asked him upon entering this hellish place if he trusted him. He foolishly had. If Jon asked that question aga in, Martin knew his answer would be very  very different. 


End file.
